Redaction: The Meltdown Part II (46 page)

Nodding, Manny veered to the left. Once around the big box store, he’d see the niños, know for certain they were alright. But he had to get there first. Fifty yards. Forty. Slush caved under each footfall. Thirty yards. Sweat stung his eyes. He pumped his arms faster.

When he was twenty yards away, a Marine ushered Mildred around the corner. Her red hair stood on end and she twisted the apron over her sweatpants. She paused when she spied him then rushed off the curb. “Manny! Are you alright? When did you get back?”

He slowed to a walk but kept moving forward. If Mildred was fine, then the niños would be too. A stitch tightened his side and he dug his fingers into the soft tissue to break it. “I just… got…here.”

“Oh good.” Mildred tossed her arms around him and squeezed tightly. She held on for a moment then another. “I’m so glad.”

Her words were glass, fragile and easily broken. Mildred was usually strong and sure.

Fear tangled Manny’s insides and dropped a lead ball deep in his gut. “Is something wrong?”

Her trembling transmitted aftershocks through his body. She pounded on his back and leaned away but didn’t release his upper arms. She chewed bits of pink lipstick off and deep lines radiated from her eyes. “I don’t know. They’re not telling me.”

His legs shook. He locked his knees to remain upright. “The niños?”

“They’re fine.” She patted his arm. Her lips wiggled but collapsed under the weight of her smile. “Connie gathered all the little ones together to play school.”

Playing. Manny swayed and tingles blossomed in his fingers. The niños were playing.

“Ma’am.” The Marine coughed into the crook of his arm before wheezing to a stop. “We should hurry.”

Mildred’s fingers spasmed and tears brightened her eyes. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” She turned away but didn’t release him. “Manny… Do you think… Will you…”

Manny folded her hand in his, rubbing the cold from her skin. The niños were okay; she needed him. He knew Wheelchair Henry would expect nothing less. But where was the old man? “I’ll come.”

Her shoulders squared then she smoothed her red hair. “Thank you, dear. I certainly appreciate it.”

The Marine gave a curt nod, pivoted then headed for the center of the mall. His gun pointed in whatever direction he surveyed. And he surveyed all of them. “This way.”

The German shepherd sniffed the air and raced ahead.

The hair on Manny’s neck stood up. Why hadn’t the Marine looked them in the eye? Was it because of the shooting? He sniffed. He didn’t smell that sharp scent of gunpowder. Who had been doing the shooting? And who had they fired upon? He hoped it was that asshole Trent Powers. The dude needed to be killed for giving that woman over to that guy with the knife, for killing his wife, and for beating his neighbor to death.

Robertson waved at the two soldiers behind him. “Return to base and collect the truck. Let’s get our people together and consolidate our position.”

Mildred leaned against him and seemed to slow the closer they got to the center store.

Manny leaned down to whisper into her ear. “What’s going on?”

“They haven’t said.” She scraped the rest of her lipstick off. “But it must be Henry.”

He blinked. “Henry?”

Nothing could happen to Wheelchair Henry. The man knew how to take care of himself. Jesus, the older man knew how to take care of everyone.

“I think he’s been…” she dragged air into her lungs, “…hurt.”

She glanced up at him. Grief hollowed out her hazel eyes and the emptiness sucked at him.

Rage surged from the pads of his feet. The knot in his stomach changed to a lump of glowing coals. “No. No!”

He shook his head. The man couldn’t be dead. Nothing could happen to Wheelchair Henry. They needed him.
He
needed him.

A single tear leaked from Mildred’s right eye. “I…I can feel it.” She drummed on her chest—the thuds louder than rocks on a casket. “I’m empty.” Her nose scrunched and she sniffed. “So empty…”

Manny shook his fists out. This couldn’t be happening. This was not happening. Feelings don’t make something real.
Please, God, don’t let it be real.
“I’m sure he’s fine. You’ll see.”

She bowed her head but the silence screamed.

He opened his mouth to argue, to convince her, to force her to see the truth. They’d survived so much together. The fire. The gangs. The trek to the soldiers. The attack. Through it all, Wheelchair Henry had been there, guiding them through, knowing what to do.

Metal rattled. Chains clinked.

Following the sound, Manny glanced down a truck ramp. Black scuff marks marked the walls. A yellow gap appeared under a roll up door. It widened with each rattle and clank. The German shepherd stuck his head into the opening and sniffed the air. With a whimper, he lay at the feet of the soldier.

The Marine lead them down the ramp, toward the light.

Snow swirled around him, rested on Manny’s shoulders before lifting off and floating to the ground. Drifts created shallow pyramids along the curb.

“Henry hated the snow.” Tears tracked through the powder on Mildred’s cheeks. She clapped a hand over her mouth but a moan seeped through her fingers.

Don’t! The word ricochetted around his ribs. Don’t use the past tense. Don’t let Wheelchair Henry go. Ever.

Another Marine appeared in the fully open gate. Dark splotches stained his tan shirt. Crimson gloves dripped from his hands. Unblinking, the serviceman stared at his palms.

Mildred stumbled.

Manny caught her as she pitched headfirst down the ramp. Tremors traveled up and down his spine. “It’s not his blood. It’s not.”

“How is he?” Their guide waited at the bottom. Inside the store, camp lights cast a golden glow over the stacks of boxes and the ones strewn like loaded dice across the gray cement floor.

The Marine in the door shook himself, knelt down and scooped up some snow. Pink droplets tainted the white with each rub of his hands. “I tried.”

Their guide ducked his head and swiped at his eyes. His cheeks glistened when he turned to Mildred. “Mrs. Dobbins, I’m so sorry I can’t do anything more.”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Robertson shouted.

Manny backed away. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t.

Mildred pulled away and swayed on her feet. Her bottom lip trembled for a moment then she squared her shoulders. “Thank you. Please take me to my husband.”

Their guide set his hands around her waist and lifted her to the dock.

The Marine at the top dried his bloody hands on his pants and lifted her the rest of the way. “The Colonel was the best, ma’am.”

Manny reached for her. No! If she didn’t see, then it wasn’t real. Then Wheelchair Henry would still be alive.

She took a step then paused. “Manny.”

He wrapped his arms around his waist.
Oh God. Please don’t make me go. Don’t take another person from me
.

Mildred’s hands fisted at her sides, and she inched forward.

No one should have to face death alone.
The command whispered inside Manny’s head.

“Wait!” Slipping the rest of the way down the ramp, he slapped his palms against the platform. Bending his knees, he jumped then toed his way up the concrete until he hooked a knee onto the dock.

The Marine reached for him, blood outlined the curve of his fingernails.

Wheelchair Henry’s blood.

Manny leaned away then clawed at the floor to keep from pitching over the side. “I can do it.”

“I asked you a question, Marine,” Robertson barked.

“The colonel insisted he be allowed to approach the target solo.” Their guide clambered into the bay. “He wanted the bastard to be brought in alive.”

“He’d seen so much violence in his career, you see. Once he got out, Henry could abide the killing anymore. If he could stop one more person from dying, he would do anything, even if…” Mildred waited in the clearing in the center of the square room. Shirts in plastic sleeves spilled out of boxes and created a rainbow of blue and green in front of her.

Manny jogged to her side and slipped his hand in hers. “I’m here.”

She nodded once then shuffled toward the spilled boxes.

White bandages fluttered in the breeze like flags of surrender.

“What the fuck for?” Robertson’s boots pounded behind them.

“The colonel thought he could convince the target to surrender.”

The conversation faded to a buzz as Manny spied the boots. Clean and clear of mud and jeans neatly tucked in the tops, they stretched out beyond the box with laces neatly doubled knotted in bows. The wheel of Henry’s chair stuck up like a silver rainbow, clean, bright and impossibly still.

The metallic taste of death hit the back of Manny’s throat. Swallowing it down, he continued forward. He had to see his friend.

Mildred choked on a sob.

Wheelchair Henry’s gray ponytail lay in the halo of blood around his head. White trimmed the red cloth at his throat. His eyes were closed. He could have been sleeping, if only his chest moved.

Move dammit!
Manny’s scream stuck to the roof of his mouth.

But Wheelchair Henry didn’t move.

And he never would.

He was gone.

Manny’s eyes burned and his chest tightened so much he couldn’t breath. Black crowded his vision.

Mildred released his hand and knelt by her husband on the floor. Her hands hovered above his chest before they settled down and smoothed his shirt. “Silly man, you’ve ruined your favorite shirt.”

He dropped to the cement. Cold leached into his skin, settled into his bones and iced his grief. No more. No more. He pounded his fists on his thighs.

Never again.

“—throat slit and he bled out.”

Blocking out Mildred, Manny focused on Robertson and the Marine.

“And where is the murdering bastard’s body now?” Robertson’s words were clipped.

Yes. Where was the body? Manny twisted around to stare at the men. He needed to see it with his own eyes.

Their guide cleared his throat. “Gone.”

“Gone as in his carcass was carried away by rabid badgers?” Veins popped out on Robertson’s neck. “Or gone as in a fucking portal to hell opened up and he was sucked inside by Satan himself?’

The guide opened his mouth.

Robertson drilled the Marine’s shoulder with his index finger. “Because if it’s option C, gone as in escaped, I’m going to hand your balls and pecker over to the Sergeant-Major.”

The Marine cupped his privates. “Option C.”

“No!” Manny leapt to his feet and stormed forward. “No! He needs to die. You have to kill Trent Powers.”

“Stand down, Manny.” Robertson shoved him backward then raised his rifle and pressed it against the Marine’s nose. “Give me one good reason why I don’t blow out your worthless piece-of-shit not-worth-a-fucking-damn brain.”

There wasn’t one. Since they hadn’t killed Trent, the Marines should die.

“Please lower your weapon, PFC.” Although soft, Mildred’s voice filled the storeroom. “Henry would not approve.”

Manny’s breath left his lungs in a whoosh. Henry would have hated this. They needed to work together and solve this problem.

Robertson’s eyes narrowed and his lip curled in a snarl but he complied. “Yes, ma’am.”

“This in-fighting is exactly the kind of trouble Trent enjoys stirring up.” Mildred shook out her skirts.

The scent of lavender surrounded Manny. “So we go after Trent Powers.”

And gun him down.

Manny stuffed his hands into his pocket. A gun would come in handy right about now. The soldiers would not go hunting without him.

“That’s gonna present a bit of a problem.” A soldier rested his elbows on the dock and stared up at them. “We’re down two vehicles.”

“Two?” Robertson stroked the barrel of his gun.

It was unlikely the military would give him one. Manny scanned the room. Where had Wheelchair Henry’s gotten to?

“We should have three, Michaelson. The murdering bastard took one.” Robertson held out his index finger as if the other soldier needed help counting that high. “Four minus one is three.”

“We’re out of brake fluid substitutes.” Michaelson held up two fingers. “Four minus two is two.”

“Did you just come here to shit on my rainbow?” Robertson kicked a box, crushing the side.

The ones on top wobbled along with the lantern. Shadows shifted and Manny saw it—a shiny black gun by the open door. Would they notice if he took it? Would they care?

“I do have some good news.” Michaelson smiled. “One of the Doc’s neighbor’s is a teacher. According to him, the districts gassed up all the little school buses when the attack hit so they’d have room for more government issued fuel.”

Manny inched closer. Could he cover the ten feet and pick it up before the soldiers noticed him? He glanced at them. They seemed more focused on each other than him.

“Yes.” Robertson punched the air. “So all we need is to find a school and we’ll have transport.”

Michaelson waved a yellow piece of paper. “There was a phone book by the food court. There’s a school three klicks away.”

Manny cleared two boxes. Four more feet to go.

Michaelson carefully folded the scrap. “It’ll take me a while to figure out how to hot wire ‘em—”

“I can do it.” Manny blinked. Had he just volunteered to hotwire a bus?

Robertson, Michaelson and the Marines stared at him. The dog thumped its tail.

Great. Now he’d never get the gun.

“You know how to hot wire a car?” Robertson rocked back on his heels then shuffled closer.

“Yeah. I can practically do it in my sleep.” God knew he’d had enough nightmares about it. And all that time in Adobe Mountain, all Manny had to do was think about stealing that stupid car.

“Good.” Robertson swept up Wheelchair Henry’s weapon. He checked the chamber than the clip before offering it to Manny. “Don’t waste the bullets.”

The gun slid against Manny’s palm; he dipped his finger into the trigger. It was lighter than the other times he’d handled it but it fit his hand perfectly. “I won’t.”

The next time this gun fired, Trent Powers would die.